


Icarus

by euphorbic



Series: Angel of Cities [6]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Gratuitous Imagery, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character(s), Pseudoscience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphorbic/pseuds/euphorbic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Charles Xavier, Henry McCoy, and plus one,” Shaw greets them with an outstretched hand. His eyes scan them both, but he’s obviously more interested in Erik.</p><p>Wherein Charles is clued in to something important about Erik's nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Tyrone Johnson and Tandy Bowen are Marvel's Cloak & Dagger, respectively.
> 
> I added over 2K words to this one. It may have reduced the impact of the original piece, but there's more to hint at the plot in this version!

Suiting for Erik turned out to be a pleasant affair; Nicolas and his assistants enjoyed fitting him once they became more used to his presence. In turn, Erik was fascinated by the process, though morose while missing his maglev rendezvous. His favorite part, of course, was visiting Nicolas’ heirloom sheers. Even when in use, Erik’s magnetic field was all over them; Charles sensed Nicolas’ amusement and befuddlement when needles began to stick to the sheers.

Nicolas now thinks of Erik as an interesting and otherworldly child capable of vast destruction. Charles only disagrees on the child part: Erik is strangely naïve, but too experienced for him to think of as childish. Besides, thinking of Erik as childish makes Charles a molester and that’s definitely incorrect as Erik often plows him with enough force to turn a field made of stone.

Suiting for Hank, on the other hand, is probably a more difficult affair. Charles finds himself wondering what Hank does about it, but will never openly ask or pry into his mind: any subject that flirts with Hank’s appearance is to be traversed delicately.

Still, when they meet him at the sweeping granite staircase that leads up to the vast entity that is the Library of Alexandria, Charles has a compliment ready. It isn’t difficult, for the charcoal wool fabric is as classic and complimentary to Hank’s blue fur as it is his golden-yellow eyes.

“The cut of that suit is impeccable, Hank, and the fabric is stunning.”

Hank’s smile is bashful, but his fangs make the expression something altogether more intimidating. “Thanks, Charles. Raven put me in contact with a lady here in Alexandria that specializes in physical mutations.”

He casts his leonine gaze on Charles’ sharp, dark suit which Raven also had a hand in; the jacket is asymmetrical, the undershirt classic white, and finished with a red tie in Greek key print. Erik, of course, is wearing something more urban as Nicolas’ design had given a nod to Erik’s propensity for being outside. The wool is both water resistant and hooded. Preventing Erik from wearing it on his usual rounds about the city has taken frequent and circuitous explaining that Charles hopes his Power won’t conveniently forget the next time he’s badly in need of attunement.

 “You guys look really good,” Hank says and adjusts his glasses. His nervousness and self-consciousness are still doing their best to obliterate Charles’ compliments. “If I stay near you, perhaps people will notice me less.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I think the library is the only thing on the planet that can get you out of the lab. The library and my sister.”

As usual Erik says little. He rarely speaks to Charles’ friends or colleagues unless spoken to directly. Raven, as ever, has proved the exception when she visits. She galvanizes almost everyone she encounters.

Together the three of them take the granite stairs up to the library’s vast façade, pass the exterior columns, the filigree wrought iron gates, and into the entryway to have their invitations and ID verified. The Library’s security team is thorough, headed up as they are by a Power known as Dagger. Her affinity with the light spectrum makes her perfect for the work as she can see and emit light in several different spectrums that are far safer than X-rays.

Dagger allows them through with a brief smile and a nod. She makes no move to check their invitations the way she has everyone else. Charles feels for Erik’s reaction to the other Power and gets a chiming ring like silver on crystal. It is a pure, clear, and vibrant note that fills Charles’ mind with prismatic color and light.

 _What was that?_ he asks.

_Her greeting. She’s tuned and balanced with her city and Tyrone Johnson._

With the name, Erik implies the mutant that has imprinted with her; a man with the ability to absorb light. The poetry of their match brings a smile to Charles’ face.

“That was very VIP, wasn’t it?” Hank says as they make their way past the foyer’s pillars and into the red, black, and white marble of the atrium.

“I think you can thank Erik for that,” Charles admits.

The spacious hall is filled with music, well-dressed denizens, and servers in internationally-inspired costumes. There is a low susurrus of conversation among the many pockets of people that reaches far up to the glass and tiles ceiling and bounces back. Most groups orbit open bars and tables loaded with canapés or around people of greater gravity. Up another low flight of shallow stairs, next to the ebony base of one of the great cinnabar pillars, there is a sparkle of light.

“On the subject of clothes, is that Emma or did one the chandeliers migrate in from the linguistics wing?” Hank asks before they get much closer. There are still too many people for the three of them to have drawn her attention yet.

Emma is resplendent in a white outfit that screams of New Dhaka’s latest couture. It is a dazzling confection comprised of a twisted silk bustier encrusted in crystals and seed pearls, above a short skirt that seems to pour down a rain of more of the same semi precious jewels. Hundreds of strands of crystals and seed pearls part like rivers along her thighs when she walks. The ends dance around her ankles, giving the illusion that she’s walking through surf.

The veil pinned in her hair sparkles with more tiny crystals which are carefully placed so as to not weigh down the fabric or her hair. Her shoes are the most humble part of her ensemble; simple clear stilettos that are remarkable only for the height they lend her and their attempt to make her feet look bare.

“Hank,” Charles says, voice full of censure, but lips turned up in mischief. “Is there really a need for that?”

“Yes. Yes, there is,” Hank snorts, “because that would be Sebastian Shaw heading straight for us. Time to deploy your Angel, Charles.”

Erik flicks a narrow glance at Hank then allows his magnetic field to fluctuate so the young man is subjected to a chill which, for Hank, entails his fur fluffing slightly like a cat in a temper. “Don’t presume.”

In the grip of equal parts affront and apology, Hank doesn’t manage to reply other than growl instinctually and compulsively pat down his fur. Charles lays a hand on Erik’s forearm and silently orders him to pull his field in tight. Erik bristles, but complies.

“Charles Xavier, Henry McCoy, and plus one,” Shaw greets them with an outstretched hand. His eyes scan them both, but he’s obviously more interested in Erik.

Charles’ hand comes out first as Hank is still flustered and likely doesn’t want to touch Shaw unless it is to claw his face. Sebastian Shaw’s grip is always a little overlong, his hands warm where his smile is merely an approximation of warmth. “Sebastian. We were just on our way to see Emma.”

“She’s looking forward to seeing you,” he chuckles. “As ever.”

He takes Hank’s hand more briefly, seeming mindful of the claws. “Good to see you again. We were worried I’d done irreparable social damage last time you graced one of these soirees.”

Hank shrugs, but Charles hears the silent desire to rip Sebastian’s head from his neck. From Sebastian Charles hears nothing and never has. He finds Shaw’s mutation fascinating and unnerving. It is as if he is a mindless body; a man with no thoughts or feelings to be read. Emma says she appreciates the silence, but Charles has never been comfortable not knowing what Sebastian thinks. Though he’s taken a legally-binding oath not to tamper with other minds without consent, he would like to bend the rules with Shaw.

Thanks to Charles’ insistence that Erik observe proper custom, he takes Sebastian’s hand when it is offered. Hank is delighted by the apparent chill that runs down the man’s spine at Erik’s touch. Shaw’s eyes narrow momentarily before his surprise turns into interest once again. “Electricity?”

“Temporal Power Erik,” Erik replies, in what Charles suspects is a purposeful misinterpretation of Shaw’s question. “Dr. Shaw.”

Shaw looks at Erik in open fascination and seems to forget to release Erik’s hand. Thankfully for them both, Erik’s continuing issues with timeframes that are not governed by Bashan’s timetables save Shaw’s fingers from injury. “Delighted to meet you, Erik. You’re with Charles, aren’t you? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I had some strange notion that you’d be something like ------, but aside from the shudders and the animate hair there’s little to compare.”

“Erik isn’t as given to conversation as the Alexandrian.” Charles reaches for and takes Erik’s hand away from Shaw. Erik tilts his head in question, but says nothing.

Shaw smiles wryly down at Charles’ hand and then back up. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to steal him from you, were it even possible. He looks like the type that would use a would-be poacher to paint the walls red.”

“Perhaps,” is all Charles says. Mentally, however, he draws his sense of Erik quite close. He runs his awareness over the periphery of Erik’s vague sense of self and doesn’t let go.

Erik looks down at Charles and gives a hint of a smile and briefly squeezes his hand. Led by Sebastian, the four of them make their way across marble flooring to the landing where the brave and foolish have congregated around Emma Frost and Alexandria’s famous Power.

Charles attracts Emma’s attention before they’re halfway up the long, shallow stairs. He feels her brush against his mind in a greeting precise enough to shed the tips of snowflakes; no words, simply a feeling of chill welcome.

He returns the sense with warmth limned in warning. _Your fiancé seems taken with my plus one._

 _Sebastian is free to look at the menu as long as he doesn’t place an order_ , she replies. _Your plus one is fetching, but rather lacking in curves, anyway._

_Just the same, my plus one is not on the menu._

There’s no surprise when Emma smiles coldly at Charles in response and turns her conversationalists away both mentally and verbally. Several steps behind her, her Power stands secluded, a dark shadow against the closest ebony base and cinnabar pillar. Where Emma is subtle in her dismissal, the Alexandrian is vaguely insulting; he says nothing but wards people away with a bare flick of his gloved fingers and the refocusing of his eyes.

The powerful creature is taller than Charles remembers, yet he’s still several centimeters shorter than Erik. His dark hair undulates in slow waves, just as Erik’s does, but it seems to slither like a sentient thing rather than in the unseen current Erik’s moves in. He’s like a tanned male medusa resplendent in black-to-red gradient garb. Charles can’t decide if the effect is like blood reaching up his body or darkness radiating down from above.

Unlike Erik, the Alexandrian loves ornamentation. There are ropes of champagne pearls and dark red garnets woven in his restless hair, baubles of the same hanging at his ears, bangles of Indian origin hoard his arms, and even has red and gold rings fitted over his gloved fingers. He stays where he is, lazily attentive like a cat.

There’s nobody in the way when Sebastian makes his way to Emma’s side and slips his hand around her waist and up to rest on her back with a casually proprietary air.

“Emma, look who I found,” Sebastian says with smarm. “Charles Xavier and his fascinating new friend, Erik.”

“I was wondering when I’d get to meet Erik,” Emma says. “And Dr. Henry McCoy, I’m glad to see Sebastian didn’t keep you away this time.”

Hank shrugs and mumbles, “I’ve just been very busy.”

Sebastian shakes his head, still smiling and apologetic. “No need to be nervous, Dr. McCoy. I was an ass and I’m truly sorry about those off-color remarks I made the other year.”

At Sebastian’s apology, the Alexandrian’s eyes appear to flicker red for a brief moment at the double entendre. Just as Hank begins to sense he’s once again being baited, the Power steps forward.

“Temporal Power Erik.” His words are darkly mellifluous. “It has been quite a long time. Longer than an infrequently Manifested temporal Power can comprehend. I believe you were attached to a Roman in charge of a century back then.”

Erik’s brow furrows in concentration. “Yes, in a cohort.”

The conversation takes Charles by surprise, he knows Erik has Manifested before, but so long ago? He doesn’t look at Erik, instead he intensifies his telepathic attention.

“Gnaeus, wasn’t it?” The Alexandrian asks between sips of wine; there is little left in his glass.

“Only his family and friends call him that,” Erik replies, sudden irritation bubbles up on molten iron wings.

“I only recall the names that matter,” the Alexandrian remarks obliquely and swirls the dregs of his wine. Across from him Erik’s eyes narrow, but he soon relaxes and Charles feels no lingering annoyance from him.

“Did you two know each other back then?” Sebastian asks with an approximation of polite interest.

With Erik the less likely of the two to answer, the Alexandrian turns to Sebastian and looks down his nose at him. His answer is every bit the riddle Charles and Hank have come to know him for. “We have never known one another, but we each know the other’s part.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian chuckles and flags a server holding a pitcher of wine over. He gestures to the Alexandrian’s glass. “Top our generous host off, would you?”

The server, dressed in an Egyptian-inspired linen kilt approaches the city’s eminent Power. The young man radiates nervousness. Sympathetic, Charles reaches out carefully and projects a measure of confidence in order to calm him.  

Instead of holding the glass for a refill, the Alexandrian hands it to the young man and turns abruptly to Charles. “Have you any skill in dancing?”

Charles nods. “Skill is a relative concept, but I think Emma can speak for me.”

The Alexandrian quirks a dark eyebrow and reaches, his gloved hands turned down, and catches at Charles’ hands. “I prefer judging for myself.”

In the vaulted expanse of the Library’s cavernous main hall, among the cinnabar and jet pillars, there is dancing. Charles allows himself to be led by his fingertips to the dance floor. He imagined he might dance with Erik, but his fingers are lightly hooked under the tips of the Alexandrian’s supple leather gloves.

At the whorled marble patterns at the center of the hall, the Alexandrian comes round to face Charles. He pulls back though Charles assumes the Power is going to take leading steps. So he stumbles slightly when he discovers the Alexandrian has fooled him by moving backwards into footwork meant for the partner that follows.

“You’re interesting.” Emma’s Power smiles as Charles concentrates on actually taking the lead. Like Erik, this Power’s smile is not clear cut. There are layers of light and shadow to his mouth and two millennia tunneling back behind the dark color of his eyes. He’s not sure why the Power finds him interesting now when he hardly seemed to notice him any other time they’ve conversed.

“Thank you,” Charles replies, not certain where to look. He reaches out for Erik, even though he doesn’t think his Power has any answers to give. Erik’s mind is warm and receptive; he sends one of his metallic swarm buzzing his way. It alights on Charles’ chest where no one can see it except, perhaps, the Alexandrian. “However, I’m hardly a grain of sand compared to you.”

The Power’s smile stretches into a grin that holds a multitude of secrets per millimeter. His tenor is rich, indulgent, and intoxicating with laughter. “Yes, that is true, but even the tiniest things are capable of greatness. If it were not so, you would not be with a temporal Power.”

“Then I assume the same of Emma,” Charles returns, managing to keep from reacting to the outrageous arrogance of the Power. “She’s always been a woman of greatness.”

The Alexandrian’s eyes crease slightly at the corners at Emma’s mention, thoughts of her obviously bring him pleasure. “Her flame is not so great as yours, Charles Xavier, but she is more than the sum of all her facets.”

The compliment is thorough, if one knows Emma’s secondary mutation. “We’ve always said she was the jewel in the Library’s linguistics section.”

The turn of phrase pulls her Power’s secretive expression into one of nuanced affection. He is still dancing with Charles, his gloved fingertips hooking into Charles’, but his eyes are unfocused as he doubtlessly reaches out to Emma.

“She is that,” he replies when his regard returns to Charles. It is now more inclusive and Charles wonders if flattery is the way into this creature’s heart, just as Shaw pronounced at a previous event. “And she is more. Sometimes it is not the most powerful of creatures that are the most devastating. Sometimes all it takes to defeat a city is a diseased cow in the water supply.”

Charles nods, wondering at the Power’s mention of ancient forms of biological warfare. Perhaps he’s seen it with his own eyes. “You and Emma always seem in tune. I hope Erik and I will be as natural together.”

The Power turns his hands over, pulling Charles’ beneath his. In the same fluid motion, he sweeps them to the side in a series of smooth steps that Charles does his best to keep up with. The Alexandrian seizes the lead from him with the same grace he pushed the lead onto Charles to start with. “Erik travels close to the sun, Charles Francis Xavier, beware your wings are not constructed of wax.”

At Charles’ breast, Erik’s metallic beetle lifts each half of its multicolored carapace and unfurls diaphanous wings. The wings blur with movement. Charles hears Erik’s voice in the buzzing of the wings, but he doesn’t understand what is said. He feels warm, protected, though the whirring sounds threatening.

Emma’s Power straightens his fingers, abruptly releasing Charles’, but he smiles at the same time, and it is never clear cut. “Yes, to you both. Even if his wings do melt, I believe Erik will catch him. But will either of you catch Erik?”

“Who are you talking to?” Charles asks, immediately catching the ‘either’ in the Alexandrian’s sentence.

“Who indeed?” The Alexandrian’s smile, the one full of secrets and subterfuge is dark on his features. “I suppose that last was me talking toward you and not with you at all. But the answer to your question is less important than mine.”

“Then what is your superior question?” Charles asks. He does not expect a straight answer. The Alexandrian has always been too intellectually arrogant for frankness; he plays games instead.

“If you knew more about temporal Powers you would know my question.” The Alexandrian considers Charles speculatively, giving the impression of wrestling with how much to say. “I advise you, Charles Francis Xavier, to do what any school child would do and look up the common meanings of temporal up in a dictionary. You might even find one here, there a few volumes within these walls.”

“Temporal is rather easy,” Charles laughs. “As relates to the physical or material world.”

“And?”

Charles frowns. He’s suddenly aware of his obvious assumption. As relating to something angelic, something celestial, perhaps temporal would denote something physical or material.

Of course he would make that assumption; before he met Erik, Charles called his kind Angels like most people. The weight of the word choice led to celestial connotations. But if one were to remove the mental trappings that went along with that word, temporal could be understood more easily and then mean anything from something physical, to temperature, to something…

Temporary.


End file.
